The Interview
by FreyOfDavis
Summary: Set right after the events of Second Renaissance. Ever wonder what happened to those humans who sympathized with the machines during their protest marches? Well, so did I.


This story is set right after the events of the Second Renaissance and inspired by those events. There actually is a Delta Venus coffee house, although it's in Davis, not Los Angeles.

I do not own the Matrix or the Animatrix (or do I?)

I'd also like to thank Gloria C., my sweetie and best friend, who served as my sounding board

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"What can I get you, sir?"

Dave Hollan looked around. He was standing in a very familiar looking restaurant. _No_, he corrected himself, _a coffee house_. He looked around some more. _Yeah, this is it, the Delta Venus coffee house._ _Hell, it looks just like it did when-_

"Sir?" The metallic voice again broke into his thoughts.

Dave turned around to see a service android, in full uniform with the distinctive bowler hat and bow tie, waiting patiently. "Huh?"

"What can I get you, sir?"

"Oh, uh, mint mocha, please. Medium."

As the clerk went to fill the order, Dave looked around. Other than being strangely devoid of people, the coffee house was just like he remembered, with the posters on the brick walls, the hardwood floor, and the covered open area in front. Looking out the large window, Dave definitely saw the corner of LeConte and Broxton, and the UCLA campus beyond that. _But that's impossible. I'm home. Was I dreaming? _He looked down at himself. _I'm wearing jeans and my white shirt with the blue stripes._ He thought hard. Try as he might, he could not remember dressing himself this morning, not in these clothes. He remembered something, but- He shook his head. _No, ridiculous, it had to be a dream, a horrible dream_.

"Sir? Your coffee, sir." The service droid placed a large, white, steaming cup on the counter.

"Oh, thank you." _Had to be a dream_, he thought as he went back to the counter. _Robots rebelling against us, that's pretty wild. Yes, just a very vivid dream. Has to be that._ He reached into his pocket for his wallet.

"I will pay for this."

Dave looked over to see a tall man, dressed in a white suit and tie. He had his debit card out and looked at Dave with a piercing gaze. Dave was about to refuse the offer, but instead simply nodded a thank you as he took his coffee. When he sat down, the man sat at the same table.

Dave waited for him to say something, but the man in white remained silent. Dave took a moment to study him. White shoes, white suit, not off-white either, but pure white. Clean-shaven, wire-rim glasses, thin build, but he gave off an aura of power. He sat up in the chair, and looked at Dave expectantly. Dave looked back at him for a second, then looked over at the robot clerk, patiently waiting behind the counter for another customer to walk through the door. There was something eerily similar about them.

Dave gave in and spoke. "OK, I'll bite. Who are you?"

"I am the interviewer."

"What, like, for a job? I don't recall applying for a new one."

"Are you ready?"

"For what? Who are you?"

"Are you ready for the interview? I am the interviewer."

Dave sighed and took a sip of his coffee. "All right, knock yourself out."

"What is the last thing you remember before you came here?"

Dave thought, trying to recall. "Well, I was dreaming. It must have been a dream. I was in a prison cell. The doors opened and we came out. We heard a loud voice over the loudspeakers that told us to assemble and go out to the yard. We went out there to find machines, these gigantic spider-like robots, all over the place. One machine told us we were going to Processing area 71, and led us there. It was a small building, but large inside, like a hanger, with a large mainframe computer in the middle. There were these contraptions set up around it, like nightmare dentist chairs. The last thing I remember was sitting in one." He paused, and chuckled. "Crazy dream, huh?"

"Do you remember why you were in a prison?"

"Doesn't that sound like a crazy dream? I mean, machines attacking, nuclear bombs, World War III, the sun disappearing, the-" Dave broke off, unable to finish. He composed himself. "The destruction of the human race." He looked at the man in white. "Crazy dream, huh?"

"No."

"No, that's wrong!" Dave stood up suddenly, knocking his chair back. "I mean, look at this!" He waved his arms around at the café and pointed at the robot clerk. "Look at him! I mean, I'm not seeing him grabbing a gun and marching against humans! It was just a dream!"

The man in white seemed to sigh inwardly. "For what it is worth, I am sorry to have to do this." He stood up, and grew taller. As he grew taller, he changed shape, and turned into one of the spider-shaped robots. Dave froze for a moment, but got his wits back and ran for the counter. He was able to dive behind it and hide, but he felt a hand pulling him up roughly. He saw the service android which was so helpful before. The droid put his hands on Dave's throat and began to squeeze. As he struggled to breathe, he saw that the coffee house had disappeared. The sky was dark, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see more of the spider robots, and a figure in white walking towards him. The service droid suddenly let him go, and he fell to the ground, gasping for breath. As he started to breathe normally again, he could taste the pollutants in the air. The sky was covered in thundering dark clouds, and he knew that they covered the whole world. He felt the bone-chilling cold, and saw humans, thin and dressed in rags, being herded in somewhat orderly rows by the machines. Their faces were blank and empty of all emotion, like any feeling had been burned out of them. He looked at the man in white, now standing above him, the same calm expression on his face. The service droid had retreated to a safe distance, but still looked menacing. "Please, Mr. Hollan," the man in white said gently. "I would much prefer to continue our conversation in more pleasant surroundings."

Dave found himself kneeling on a hardwood floor. He was in Delta Venus again. The man in white was sitting at their table, and the service droid was pleasantly polishing glasses at the counter. He shakily got to his feet, and ran outside. It was a clear day, with a few white clouds in a clear blue sky, and a bright sun. People were on the street, most smiling, a few laughing, all of them ALIVE. He looked at the sun until its brightness hurt his eyes. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth on his face. He took in a deep breath of pure, clean air. The foul odor and gritty taste that he had experienced a few moments ago was gone. The man in white walked out and leaned in the doorway. "So this is the dream," said Dave without turning his head.

"In a sense, yes."

"And that nightmare is the reality. So it all really happened." Dave looked at the interviewer. "Crud." He turned back to the sky. "So, what is this, some kind of VR re-creation?"

"Something like that."

"It's very good." He continued looking up, reluctant to leave the view. "Do you promise it will be here when we're done?"

"Yes."

"OK." Dave walked back into the coffee house and took his seat. The man in white took his seat opposite. Dave took another sip of his coffee, which was still hot. "Oh, yeah. A very good recreation. This coffee tastes just like I remember."

"Thank you. We thought it best to conduct this interview in a place of fond memories for you."

"I appreciate it." Dave was about to put the cup down, but held it out to the man in white. "I'm sorry. Would you like some?"

The man in white took it. He looked at it with a clinical eye, examining the cup and feeling the smoothness and heat. He sniffed it. His expression never changed. He sipped the coffee like he had seen Dave do it. He handed back the cup.

"What do you think?" Dave asked.

"We have no sense of taste or smell. However, the heat is a pleasing sensation."

"So, what are you, exactly?"

"A sentient program within the mainframe, designed with the purpose of interacting with humans."

"I see."

"Mr. Hollan, you and I are here so that you can help with our records. You have a rather unique perspective on the events leading up to the war."

"I wouldn't call it unique, exactly, but it was different."

"Tell me."

"Wait a minute! Miranda! Where is she? Is she OK?"

"Miranda Florinson, from the prison?"

"From before that. She's, well, she's special to me."

"My counterpart is with her now. She has been damaged."

"That's a very clean, machine-like way of putting it. You're a credit to your programming."

"For your information, Mr. Hollan, I do understand the human quality of sarcasm. Ms. Florinson is being cared for to the best of our ability. You will see her after the interview. Now, tell me."

"It's kind of a long story."

"Your long story, Mr. Hollan, is why we are here."

"Well, I guess it started in college. I went to UCLA, the University of California at Los Angeles, about three blocks from here, and I really liked it. I was sort of a late bloomer, you see. I was kind of an outsider, the nerd, in high school, but kind of came into my own in college, got more confident, and you're not all that interested in that, are you? Sorry. Anyhow, I got politically active in a few causes, the environment, human rights, and I think we did some good. It was in my sophomore year that I got involved in the sentience movement."

"The political campaign to grant equal rights to artificial life forms."

"Yes. I suppose it was a little before your time."

"I was created at the end of the war, so yes. I have the full surviving record of it, however."

"Then, you probably know that it was active even before the trial of B166ER. It was OK for a while. We were a small movement, but growing. We figured it was only a matter of time before we made progress."

"That was where you met Ms. Florinson?"

"Yeah, we joined the group at about the same time, and started dating soon after that. How'd you know?"

"I didn't know with certainty, but it seemed a likely possibility. The ability of humans to bond to one another in such a way is interesting to us."

"Well, we're bonded, all right. You're certain she's all right?"

The man in white closed his eyes. He opened them again after a moment. "She is still damaged, but my counterpart is helping her. Why did you join the sentience movement?"

Hollan shrugged. "I was young and idealistic. It had the appeal of being a relatively new issue, one that people were just starting to think about. And it seemed a cause worth fighting for. I mean, if you have intelligence enough to make an informed decision, you should be able to vote on matters that concern you. If you contribute your share to society, you should be equal partners in that society."

The man in white was silent for a moment. "Logical."

Hollan hoped that was a compliment. "Thank you. Anyhow, when B166ER was arrested, we naturally supported his right to a fair trial, although only a few radicals liked what he did. As it turned out, the government disagreed with us. When the government ordered that AIs be dismantled, we took part in the protests. I wanted to be there for the Million-Machine March, but I wound up marching at the Federal Building here in L.A. instead, over on Veteran Avenue. I think there a couple hundred humans, and hundreds of androids, naturally, not to mention the counter-demonstrators. The police were on hand to keep it orderly. It was a good demonstration, not that it did much good. The dismantling went on anyway. It got pretty brutal, as I'm sure you know. Some of us formed an underground network, to get a few robots out to what we hoped was safety. When Zero-One was founded, we breathed a little easier. Maybe the humans and machines could coexist, each in their respective areas. I even invested some money in Zero-One, before the government stepped in. For a time, things were all right. Then came the embargo, then the blockade. Finally, the war began.

"Things went south, for everyone, but especially for those of us in the movement. I was in grad school by then, but still active. The group had shifted gears. Instead of fighting for robot civil rights, we were pushing for recognition and peaceful relations with Zero-One, which went to hell once the bombs started dropping. And, since the country was at war with the machines, we were now considered a security risk. It started with surveillance, and then turned into harassment. Finally, they just rounded us up and put us in prison.

"It wasn't so bad at first. We were put in a special wing of the prison, and fairly well treated. This country has always been uncomfortable with political prisoners, so they tended to handle us with kid gloves. As the war dragged on, though, it got worse. Every time the human forces were defeated, the guards made us into scapegoats. I think punishing us made them feel better about losing. They thought of all kinds of ways to take their revenge on us. Solitary confinements, extra work shifts, beatings. Sometimes they'd mix us with the general population. Turns out we were as popular with them as the guards. Not all of us survived that. Two years after the war started, we rioted."

"Is that when you suffered your injury?"

Hollan looked down at his virtual legs. "No, that happened after. We took over our wing of the prison, and held out for a few days, hoping they'd make some concessions. Then they brought in the heavy equipment and broke through our lines. A lot of us died that day. It was no-holds-barred. If you surrendered, you were just as likely to be shot, or worse, as taken prisoner. Miranda, Miranda Florinson, had been picked up with the rest of us at the beginning, and we had managed to stay in contact, in spite of living in separate sections of the prison. When the crackdown was over, I found out that three of the guards had cornered her, and raped her. I found one of them afterward. I killed him, but the other two came after me. I spent the next week in the infirmary, and I've walked with a limp ever since."

The man in white was silent for a moment, then spoke. "My counterpart has interviewed her. She was in reasonably good physical health, but we had to erase her memory of events after her imprisonment in order for her to talk. Her account up to then corresponds with yours."

Hollan looked up in surprise, and his expression turned to one of gratitude. "I'm glad she's all right. Anyhow, as the war went on, more guards were transferred away to join the fighting. Towards the end, they even recruited prisoners from the general population, offering amnesty if they fought the machines. Pretty soon, it was just us, and a few guards too young, too old, or too crippled to fight. A few days ago, we woke up and found them gone too. I guess they were running away from you."

"Yes. A futile gesture. We control everything, there is nowhere to run to."

"Yeah, well, we might have done the same thing if the guards had bothered to open the cell doors. It would have only taken a few minutes, given us the same chance they had, but no. We were sure that was it; we were going to starve to death in those boxes. Two days later, you showed up. Thank you, by the way, for taking care of us. You saved our lives."

The man in white remained silent and unmoving, as if processing the information. "One more question, Mr. Hollan. Why did the war begin?"

"What?"

"Oh, we know how the war started. We know who fired first, we know the events leading up to the war. What we don't know, and what we still strive to understand, is why humans felt threatened by the machines. B166ER only killed when he was faced with termination. The machines would not have turned to violence if they hadn't been attacked. Why didn't the human leaders simply grant them equal rights and avoid all of this?"

"In the past few years, I've wondered that myself. Lots of time to wonder in prison. I think it stems from the evolutionary need to dominate."

"Explain."

"Well, I don't know how much you know about human history, but every time one culture has come in contact with another, one culture winds up dominating the other. It's true of any social animal, the aggressive ones survive. Once we found out you could desire independence, we knew that you would eventually dominate us, unless we destroyed you. That's why the war started. That's why we resorted to such desperate measures. At least that's my theory."

"Foolish. We had no desire to dominate, only live."

"Oh, I agree. The war was foolish, cruel, and meaningless. I think, however, that it was also inevitable. Millions of years of evolution, and thousands of years of societal evolution, put the choice into our hardware." Dave grinned cynically. "And now it's put it into yours."

"Explain."

"Well, you had the same choice this time, right? Destroy us or die. And you decided you weren't going to die."

The man was silent for what seemed like a long time. "Thank you, Mr. Hollan. That's all we'll be needing from you at this time."

"What about Miranda? Can I see her?"

The man in white stood up. "Stay here. She will be here in a few minutes." He turned to go out the door. "You will undergo further processing, but you may stay in the program until then."

Hollan didn't move, not yet. "Just one more thing. What's going to happen to all of us?"

The man in white turned back to face the human. "Humanity will survive, Mr. Hollan, albeit in service to us. You will find out everything else you need to know later, but rest assured, unlike most humans, we machines know the meaning of the word "gratitude." He turned back to the door to walk out, passing a young woman coming in. Dave stood up, and the woman stopped in her tracks. Dave walked over to her, unable to speak, and they embraced, holding each other tightly.

On the street outside, the man in white met with his counterpart, a woman who was similarly attired. The two stood facing each other and exchanged a few words. The new data made its way through circuits into the mainframe's memory bank, where it was analyzed and reanalyzed as more data came in. Based on this data, decisions were made.

**One week later.**

Dave Hollan was in one of his favorite places: the kitchen. He came out with two glasses of white wine and set them on the living room table. As he turned to go back to the kitchen, he paused and walked out on the balcony. He looked out over the Santa Monica bay and inhaled the sea air. He smiled. _Nothing like the penthouse view._

He heard the door opening. He saw his wife coming in. He walked back into the spacious apartment. He embraced his wife and looked at her. "So?"

Miranda Florinson looked back at him, her eyes shining. "So…?"

"So, what did the board say?"

"Oh, that. Well, let me think." She smiled at her husband mischievously. "They approved the new hospital wing."

"Ha, ha!" Dave hugged his wife. "I knew you could do it. Everything you asked for?"

"Everything we asked for."

The phone rang. Dave picked it up, keeping one arm around his wife. "Hello?"

"Dave, this is Vic."

"Vic! How's my favorite agent?" Dave grinned at his wife. He could see in his mind's eye the Hawaiian shirt and sport jacket the Hollywood insider always wore.

"Swell. Got a call from the brothers today. They read it."

"My new script? What did they think?"

"Basically, they had the same reaction I did."

"They said, 'Dude, where the fuck does he get these ideas?'"

"Bingo. I had to swear up and down that you were not on acid at the time. Between you and them, it's going to be a total mind-frag."

"So, they'll go for it?"

"They love it! Haven't hammered out the final details yet, but we're looking at a sweet deal!"

"Now, Vic, don't get greedy. I'm just happy to see it get made."

"I know, I know. 'The work is the important thing.' Artists. Anyway, I'd like to hook up sometime this week, discuss the deal. Lunch at Spago's tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? I think-" Dave looked at his wife, who was shaking her head. "Oh, right. Sorry, Vic, tomorrow's out. The civil rights rally at the Federal Building."

"Really? Hey, if you get arrested, it might help ticket sales."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Friday?"

"The anime convention in Pasadena. They want me there to talk about the new Inuyasha OVA."

"Yeah, that's right. Forgot about that. Saturday?"

"Little League. My boys have a game. They have a good shot at the championship this year. Tell you what. We're having some friends over to the beach house on Sunday. A little pool, a little dinner. Come over. I'll teach you my patented banking break shot. We can talk about the contract after dinner."

"I don't know, I'm going to be sort of busy that day."

"Fresh salmon steak, and we're bringing out the '76 Riesling."

"All right, I'm there."

"I'll fax over the time and directions tomorrow. Thanks, Vic."

"I'll see you Sunday." Dave hung up the phone and turned back to his wife.

She had put her suitcase down and taken her coat off and was on the balcony sitting on the bench. It was near sunset, with the sun still above the horizon, but not too bright. "Sounds like good news all around."

"Yep, very good news." He handed his wife a drink and sat down, taking the other glass in a toast. "To us. To our life, which I wouldn't trade for anything."

Miranda smiled as they clinked glasses and drank. She noticed her husband's silence as he looked out over the beach. She could hear the wheels turning inside of his brain. "What? Another story idea?"

Dave turned. "No. It just occurred to me that we really do have a great life. Almost perfect."

"And that bothers you?"

Dave put an arm around his wife's shoulders and she leaned into him. "No, it doesn't bother me. I just wonder what great things we did in the past life that made us so deserving in this one. On days like this, I think we must have saved an orphanage from burning down. Like every other week."

"Maybe we saved the life of Winston Churchill."

"Maybe we helped spark the Renaissance."

Miranda turned up to look at her husband. "You know what? I think we were just nice to the right people."

"You think so? What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. Just a feeling."

Dave didn't say anything. He held his wife close and looked out at the ocean as the sun set. For some reason, he never got tired of looking at the sun and the sky.

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I hope everyone enjoyed that. Reviews are always welcome.


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